


The Perfect Crime

by L0v3_l3ss



Series: The Perfect Crime [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, Emotional Sex, F/M, M/M, MALE READER INSERT, Male Reader is Robin, POV Second Person, Partially Unresolved Emotional Tension, Porn with Feelings, Reader is fifteen, Reader-Insert, Sexually Agressive Minor, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 03:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L0v3_l3ss/pseuds/L0v3_l3ss
Summary: Bruce is a good man, he tries to say he’s not; but he is. He has morals, which are the things that keeps his lingering gaze from becoming a lingering touch instead.Because it’s a crime.---Aka: Male Reader Robin/Bruce Wayne. Emotional turmoil, bunches of guilt- and some hot and steamy scenes.





	The Perfect Crime

You’re fifteen years old. You used to be a helpless orphan, only ten years old with no one to turn to. A lot has changed since that day. You’re not helpless, never again are you helpless. You’re Robin- maybe not -the- Robin. Since there were five others before you, but you’re making the mantle your own- as well as you can. 

But you’re not the scrawny little runt of a ten-year-old boy anymore. You know that because of that change, the whole dynamic between you and Bruce has shifted. 

Now you are lithe coiled compact muscle, muscle that Bruce helped you build. Occasionally you feel his eyes on your back while you’re in the shower after patrol. You wonder if he ever thinks of running his fingers along the statue he helped sculpt. 

You pretend you don’t notice, because you know that the man lives in a sea of denial that would make the river in Egypt look like a trickling stream. Bruce is a good man, he tries to say he’s not; but he is. He has morals, which are the things that keeps his lingering gaze from becoming a lingering touch instead. 

Because it’s a crime. 

He’s constantly at war with himself, he tries to treat you like his other sons- but he obviously sees you as something else. Which makes his self-denial and self-flagellation all the more entertaining to watch play out. You never see it on his face; no, his mask is too well crafted for that. He rarely shows emotion on his face. But being Robin- you learned how to read it in his eyes. You know Bruce better than anyone in the family, even Cassandra. You doubt she knows about his dirty little secret.

You take hints and cues from his past lovers. Selina was seductive in a way where every move she made was flawless and alluring. You trained yourself into that, you added a bit more swagger to your hips- as you approached his desk. Your body screamed sensual, but the grin you gave teased Bruce with your boyish charm. You watched as the conflict played out in his eyes, he wanted to watch, but he hated himself for even thinking of it. You made him hate himself a little more, when you bent over his desk- harmlessly asking what he was working on. His shift in gaze would have been imperceptible to all but those who knew him best, and unfortunately for you- you knew him well. You could tell he was watching the little arch in your spine. The lazy grace in the way you settled your elbows on his desk and dropped your head on top of your hands. Your eyes looked wide and innocent, your body language was smooth and supple. You watched him sweat for a moment before he composed himself and replied- when you left you counted another score in your favor. Breaking a man who's composure is more solid than a rock is always fun- you think.

It was almost too easy.

Talia was always dangerous; her movements may seem gentle- but there is a biting edge to her that screamed risk. You practice it when you see Bruce shaving, you lean against the doorway with nonchalance and tell him he’s missed a spot. He turns to you but doesn’t say anything. So, you grin and cock your hip with a subtle inviting tilt to your posture. You take the straight razor from him, he doesn’t try to stop you-only loosely lets it out of his grasp. You nudge his chin upwards, watch the conflict in his eyes as your fingers dance and flutter along the soft hollow of his throat.

His Adam’s apple bobs under your fingers, how fitting- you think to yourself; you think you remember some pastor telling you once that the Adam’s apple was all because Adam fell to temptation and took a bite of forbidden fruit. Your smile is sharp and wolfish as you catch some of the dripping foam with your thumb. You look at him and flutter your dark eyelashes. The razor scratches across Bruce’s skin harmlessly, it’s silver glinting dully in the light. You could easily slit his throat with the razor if you so choose- you dig it in deeper to make him aware of that fact- you don’t miss the jump of his pulse underneath your fingertips. His face is as neutral as ever, but you can feel his contained restraint like a pleasant buzz in your bones. A thin white line appears were you press, but you know exactly how much pressure to apply without breaking skin. He watches you intently with dark blue eyes, he looks ready to reach his hand up to stop you- or maybe pull you closer. Maybe with his self-destructive tendencies, maybe he would let you slit his throat willingly from ear to ear. That wouldn’t be fun though, because you do kind of care for the bastard, even if your favorite pastime is to watch him squirm- so instead you innocently catch the last bit of shaving cream that managed to evade him during his shave. You then tap the razor off in the bowl of water on the bathroom counter.

Your breath lingers hot against his throat, you’re close enough to him to breathe the same air- you’re still shorter than him; probably always will be, it makes a thrill rush through you at the thought, Bruce is always large than life- you grin cheekily again like the child you’re supposed to be. You chirp a ‘Gotcha covered, B’ and watch as the result hits him. He’s breathless like you just nailed him in the solar plexus with the heel of your foot. You leave him to battle with his guilt…  
And just maybe; you might love every second of it. 

(Maybe you love him too-

No.)

Maybe Bruce isn’t the only one living in a sea of denial. 

When you’re Robin, you can tell the guilt is there even more, it’s omnipresent whenever you are wearing the red tunic. This was the mantle that his sons had worn at one time, this was something that was supposed to be untouched and untainted. Hope in a dark world, childish innocence.

Too bad you weren’t a child for a long time. 

You stick out your tongue to catch a droplet of sweat dripping down your chin. You are like Diana- maybe not superhuman- but you have power. Your power lies in the way where you flip over the thug that you’re fighting, like you suddenly have the ability to turn off gravity. You land on your feet behind him, don’t hold back your strength as you deliver a nerve strike. You can feel Batman’s gaze on you from above as he watches you dispatch the would-be petty thieves that tried to throw a brick through a pawn shop’s window. You grin fierce, a warrior’s grin. 

Then when you finish zip-tying the thugs, you grapple up to the building Batman is stationed upon. Your fierce grin doesn’t match the way that you childishly bounce on the back of your heels. Again, you throw him for a loop, you see his jaw clench a miniscule amount- in the darkness you shouldn’t be able to see it.   
You pretend you don’t. 

While you channel every ex-lover he’s ever had, the thing that breaks him the most is when you act like yourself. When you get back to the cave and take off the mask, for a moment you are too hyped up on adrenaline that you forget the game. Alfred has already gone up for the night; but he has left a tray of post-patrol snacks for your arrival. You talk too loudly about the most recent case and you steal all the snacks that Alfred has made. You bare your throat in a subtle dare for Bruce to challenge you for the right to take them. You lean against the console of the batcave, chewing idly on your mini-sandwich. Your eyes are bright, your grin is stretched warmly across your lips, and your pose is relaxed.   
You weren’t playing the game, but Bruce’s control still snapped anyways. One moment you are finishing the last of the snacks on the tray and licking off your fingers, the next thing you know your hips are pressed more firmly to the console as Bruce looms over you like a solid wall- still in full Batman attire, he would be imposing to anyone else. But not to you. “You need to stop this.” His growl is low, and you blink owlishly. 

“What do you mean B?” You ask, chew on the edge of your lip and wonders if you weren’t being subtle enough. You resist the urge to grin. You can feel him come closer against you, you suck on the tip of your thumb that still has some crumbs left on it. You don’t need to see Bruce’s eyes behind the lenses of the cowl to know he is watching your movement with a sort of acute hyper awareness. His big hand grabs your wrist, you never thought it very petite, but in Bruce’s hand that’s what it is. He pulls your hand away from your mouth. 

“I’m just bein’ me.” You remark. He looms closer, and for a second you think he’s going to bark out an order, or maybe even bench you for troubles. Instead his lips ghost against yours, and you swallow nervously, this time you’re the one that’s sweating. Because you never thought you’d manage to break the Bat’s indomitable self-control.  
He presses a rough kiss to your lips, rough in a way that makes your jaw hurt, and you make a pained sound in the back of your throat. He eases up the pressure some- and for all the teasing you do- your heart is still pounding in your chest. You may have played with the art of seduction, but this was your first kiss. 

He kisses you breathless in both the figurative and literal sense. Of course, being ‘Brucie Wayne’ the playboy- he has practice in kissing. His stubble catches on your still smooth jaw, and the rough pads of his gauntlets grab at your hips possessively. You breathe through your nose as his tongue darts across your lips and chases the flavor of the last thing you ate. His hand that had been holding your wrist now has let go and cupped underneath your rear to lift you up in a smooth motion. You wrap your legs around his waist with a small stifled yelp against his lips, you feel his smile leave your mouth to press against your temple in a way that makes you squirm.

It’s loving and gentle, you knew about lust sure- but the way that Batma- no…Bruce carefully tilts your chin up and kisses you like you are precious porcelain- you feel the gears in your brain suddenly just stop. You tighten your thighs around his waist, hook your knees together behind his back so you don’t fall, and your hands go around behind his neck. He rolls his hips into yours and it makes you open your mouth to gasp, only to get his tongue slipping inside your mouth. 

You may be confused, but you’re a horny teenage boy- so you rut up into his abdomen- and you are keenly aware of the pain that your too-tight jock is creating. You need less layers between you both like- yesterday. So, you press the latches of his cowl with shaking bare fingers, the only things you had managed to strip off before Batman had unceremoniously shoved you up against the computer were your gloves and domino mask.   
You both still smelled of Gotham, and when you pushed the cowl down you run your fingers through his sweaty hair. Idly you figure you should be disgusted, maybe you should be disgusted by the whole thing- maybe the first moment you should have been disgusted was from when you first noticed his eyes lingering on you in the showers. But you aren’t, so you tug his hair and he breaks the kiss briefly.

You wonder if he’s changed his mind, if his morals have kicked him out of his desperate state- but he proves that theory wrong when he possessively starts to kiss his way up and down your jaw. Sucking bruises along the span of it as he unhooks the cape from your shoulders- he then mouths at the newly exposed expanse of your neck, and you let out a soft mewl as his teeth graze along the tender part of your throat. You think of the moment with Bruce and the razor blade, but you are pulled from the memory when Bruce sinks his teeth into your flesh. You shout and rut up against him, the pain mixing with the pleasure as you pull harshly at the baby fine hairs at the back of his neck. “Bruce-“ You chant brokenly, you’re already hot and ready after barely any foreplay. The man lets a low growl rumble from his chest, and you flutter your eyelashes again in a mockery of innocence. He just laps at the bite mark he’s made with he flat of his tongue. You’re going to have to wear turtle-neck sweaters for weeks for the bruises to fade. The thought of Bruce’s teeth marks on your skin, leaving marks on your body, it makes your heart beat wildly in your chest.

“I shouldn’t.” He says while presses your foreheads together. His mouth a grim line.   
You press a chaste peck to his lips, too quick to be sultry. You then mouth your words against his jawline. “Too late to be feeling guilty now, boss. You’ve already started the crime, might as well be committed to it.” He lets out a breath as if you’ve physically pained him. He just kisses you harder, he’s angry- angry at himself. He’s taking it out on your bruised lips. 

Wrong wrong wrong. 

But so right. 

“Upstairs.” He growls, and you have to agree. Your back is still painfully being pressed into the sharp corner of the computer console, the only thing protecting your back from bruising is the Kevlar tunic you still wear.  
He lifts you up again, this time you laugh. “Sweeping me off my feet?” He smiles too, but there are still broken fragments of sharp guilt lingering behind his eyes. You just kiss him again as he carries you up to the manor. Even if your legs weren’t wrapped tight around his waist, you knew he wouldn’t drop you. 

The rest of the travel is a blur, and soon Bruce is laying you down on his bed too gently for this to be purely lust, his broad body looms over you like a shadow. He kisses you until you’re breathless, his big hand trailing over your thigh. “Beautiful.” He mutters under his breath, making your throat constrict painfully. It wasn’t supposed to be this sweet, he wasn’t supposed to treat you like you actually mean something to him. 

You want to run your hands over his skin badly, so you tug on the latches of the batsuit in proper order where the self-defense mechanism of the suit doesn’t activate. Bruce starts working on your own. For a moment you are struck with a thought, Alfred has a rule against anything Batman related upstairs, he’ll have a fit if he sees the suits strewn across the floor like dirty laundry. 

Anxiety bubbles in your gut. If Alfred found out what you and Bruce were doing, that might be the last of his concerns. However, you were brought out of your thoughts when your tights were pulled down. Bruce’s hand palms your thighs, he had stripped the gloves a while ago. Warm skin, your cock twitches in interest. You tug at the top portion of his suit as he works on taking off your briefs and jockstrap. 

Soon his warm body is pressed against yours as you are both fully uncovered. The glimpses you have seen in the showers is nothing compared to the view of his massive chest pressed against you. Your hands running along the scars that write a history of his war in Gotham. He kisses you, his lips slow and languid in an unhurried dance. He takes your weeping erection in his big hand and you arch your spine, the heels of your feet dig into his lower back as you cry out into the kiss. He swallows your noises greedily as his thumb drags along the head of your cock, rubbing your pre-come around before slowly stroking you. Not nearly enough friction, nor fast enough. 

You try to jerk your hips to move faster, but he holds you down. You love the feeling, trapped underneath Bruce and him slowly tearing you apart. It’s like every fantasy you’ve had, but better. 

“Bruce.” You groan, your hair splayed around your head like a halo, his blue eyes twinkle with something you can’t decipher (you can decipher it, but you chose not to for your own sanity) as he mouths down the line of your chest. His hand is gone from your cock, and instead are exploring along your own scars. “Come on, fuck me.” You mutter. He pauses, looks you in the eye. You wonder if whatever spell had been put on Bruce has been broken. Will he change his mind now? 

“It’s something we can never take back, if we do it.” You can tell from his eyes and not his voice- which is as blank as his facial expression- but he’s nervous, Batman never gets nervous. But Bruce does.   
You hum in affirmative and close your eyes. “I want to.”

He pulls away, and you open your eyes. You think he’s going to leave, but instead he just leans over and opens the bedside drawer beside his bed. He pulls out lube, and a condom- you stop his hand. “No condom. I want to feel you. I know you’re clean, you know I’m clean.” There is a furrow in his brows, you wonder if he wants the layer between you so he can feel this is less real, finally giving in to what he wants- finally giving in to his sin. But in the end, he puts the condom away and you give an upturned smirk. 

He kisses you again, you hear the lid of the lube being flicked open as your eyes slip closed. He spreads your legs and hovers between them, suddenly the mouth on yours is gone- and he’s trailing kisses on your torso. His teeth graze across one nipple, then his tongue teases the other. It’s unhurried, but too slow. You want to complain, but soon he moves down- and his breath is ghosting over your cock and your words suddenly dissipate off your tongue. You let out a cry as he sucks the head into his mouth, and you know for a fact if he wasn’t holding you down- then you would have bucked into his mouth. 

Hot and warm, so very very warm. Never had you thought in all your years, would Bruce Wayne- Batman- terror of the knight- would be between your legs and sucking your brain out through your dick. You murmur a string of unintelligible praises as your hands thread into his dark hair. His stubble tickles your inner thighs as they clamp around his head, and when he hums around your cock like you are the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted- you let out a small whimper.   
You are so distracted by that experienced tongue, that you barely even notice the thick finger probing around your hole. When you do notice, you relax. Part of you feels choked up at the fact that he took the time to warm up the lube in his hands. A finger slips into you, slowly to the first knuckle. You ignore the urge to expel the intrusion and force your body to open up to Bruce more. He won’t hurt you, you know he won’t. After all, that’s the man you fell in lo-

No. 

You could understand lust. 

But not this. 

You ignore your thoughts and focus on the way his tongue swirls around your stiff erection. He bobs up and down along your member as he slowly works his finger into you deeper. He’s up to the second knuckle, and the oddity is starting to fade away. As his finger moves along your walls, you feel yourself heat up under his ministrations. The dual sensations making you putty in the older man’s hands. 

When he pushes his first finger all the way in, he curls and touches something that makes you wail his name. His hand that isn’t working on trying to stretch you open, clench around your thigh. Idly you hope that they leave bruises.   
He curls his finger again, and pre-come spurts into his mouth. It dribbles out his lips and down his chin as you squirm. You tug his hair, trying to get that blessed mouth off of your cock, otherwise with the dual sensations you would come far too soon. He seems to get the hint, and lets go, he instead rests his chin on your thigh as another finger meets the first one. His eyes are locked on yours, pupils blown wide with lust as he scissors you open. You think he’s handsome all the time, but even more like this. He’s looking at you like a predator, like he could eat you alive. But then something soft flickers along his gaze, and you can’t help but gently wipe off your pearly white pre-come from off his lips and chin. He kisses your hand, then your inner wrist. 

Your eyes sting with emotion as you drop your head back down on the pillow, your eyes glued to the canopy draped above you instead. That’s safe, safer than whatever conflicting emotions you have. Bruce is kind enough not to say anything, even though you know there was no way he could have missed it. Instead, he laces your fingers together with his free hand, his calloused thumb trailing delicate circles into the soft skin of your inner wrist. You let out a small strangled sob that you can’t contain, his fingers freeze inside you for a moment. 

He thinks he hurt you, you realize. 

“Keep going, I’m fine.” You say, knowing that if you lose him now- he would likely close you off and never try again. You wanted him more than you can breathe, maybe that’s why you started the game in the first place. Maybe that’s why he let you. Because you both are in love with each other, and that fact is killing you.   
You understand lust-

But love is another matter all-together. 

The fingers slowly start again, three now- the pain stings a little, but it is drowned out by the gentle circular motions of Bruce’s thumb on your wrist and the kisses he places to your inner thigh. 

You are writhing under him, you gasp his name and beg him. You want to feel him. You need it, you need this. He finally pulls his fingers out, leaving you empty- hollow. You bite your tongue to stifle a pathetic whimper at the loss. You hear the cap of the lube again, and you lift your head to watch Bruce. His own cock is stiff and hard, pre-come beading at the head as he rubs lube onto his erection. Your own dick twitches, idly part of you feels bad that you haven’t done much to satisfy Bruce- but the other part is filled with joy at the fact that Bruce is so hot and needy just from watching you take his fingers. 

He pulls you up until you’re sitting on his thick thighs, your bodies pressed flushed together. Your hands move to cradle his jaw as you pepper more kisses to his lips. He lets out a pleased rumble from his broad barrel chest that makes you tremble in want. 

When he slips into you, he holds you like you mean the world to him. You pull at his hair and gasp his name like a twisted prayer. He lets out a broken noise as your walls twitch around him, like you were what he was waiting for his whole life. You shift your hips, clamp your inner walls to feel more of him inside you- and his hands twitch as they come to your hips. He slowly lowers you down, you’re pressed to him- every inch of your body is touching his and you love it. If you could, you think he’d want to make a home of your skin, he keeps trying to pull you closer- a part of you doesn’t mind. You think you would let him. 

Your pace starts out slow and lethargic, but by the end the desperation gets too much. You rut against each other like animals, you come untouched with his name on your lips- he comes only moments after you with your name on his own. 

Afterwards, you lie in bed- drowsy as he cleans up the mess you’ve both made. He wipes your inner thighs of his release and kisses your knee as his hand gently massages his way up your calf. “You love me.” You whisper, he hums against your skin. Looks at you like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. You swallow thickly. “I think I love you too.” You admit like a dark secret.

He’s silent for a long time, his lips in a thin line. You can tell he’s deep in thought. He kisses your knee again before moving up. He settles behind you and pulls you close. You twist in his hold so you can lay your face on his chest, he pulls the covers over you both and sighs. “We shouldn’t have done this.” He says. 

“I know.” You mutter. “But we might as well be committed to it now boss. You said it yourself, we can’t take it back.”   
He kisses your forehead, then presses a kiss to your sweaty hair at the crown of your head. 

Bruce has loved a lot of people, but you realize- that they all had their complications you wouldn’t be an exception it seems. He just held you closer. 

In the morning, Alfred pretended he didn’t know what went on behind closed doors. Despite the fact that you knew he was the one that cleaned the sheets and picked up the pieces of Kevlar off the floor from where they lay. He didn’t utter a word at the bruises you displayed proudly along your neck, nor did Alfred ask Bruce why he was in such a good mood. You are thankful that nothing has changed.

Besides, if you were old enough to fight a war in Gotham- then you were old enough to be with the man you fell in love with. 

Despite the guilt, you know Bruce felt the same way. 

He’s committed now, and you’re his perfect crime.  
-=FIN=-


End file.
